A Hitman 2 Part Story: Liability
by Whipsmack
Summary: Agent 47 must deal with loose ends from an old job in Rome. Once done, are his troubles truly over or have they just begun?


A tumbleweed rolled across the old road, bringing sand with it across the pavement. The paint that divided the lanes was ancient and fading. This meant that no paint would linger on the black shoes 47 had worked so hard to polish.

47 does sound like an odd name, but it's the only one he ever knew. His full name was 640509040147, but he went by the last two numbers, 47. This number was given to him when he was bred as a clone in an asylum somewhere in Romania. The memories were vague, but the ones that were clear we horrific.

47 drew himself from the sea of thoughts he had just entered and looked down the road. He saw an old rusty gate guarded by two men in rags and turbans. They were armed with two silenced sub-machineguns. 47 suddenly felt the weight of his own two silenced pistols, hanging inside his tuxedo, removed from sight.

A guard stepped forward and dropped his turban. "No access, permitted members only." The guard was American, which meant 47 had the right place.

"I have business with the man inside." The guard shook his head and the other guard closed in on 47. "I have business inside. You can look my name up, I'm in the records." The guard sighed as his blonde hair shimmered in the sun.

"Dan, call up the head. We'll see if Mr. Fancy here is lying or not." The other guard nodded and relaxed. He pulled away his turban's mouthpiece and drew a cell-phone out. After a few rings a voice clicked on.

"Hello?"

"It's Dan. We have a guy out here, saying he's got business with the boss."

"I'll be right out."

A small bunker was sitting in the sand, hidden from view until the hatch on the top popped open and a heavily armed and armored guard walked out. "Alright Tux, c'mon follow me into the bunker and we'll check your file."

47 was tired of the nicknames and complied after a quick scan of the guard. "Alright." He followed him to the bunker and dropped in.

The head of security leaned over the computer. "Name?"

"Burkensom, Daniel." 47 lied.

The head looked the name up as 47 reached into his tuxedo and felt for his garrote. He found the small fiber wire and gripped the blue handles. In one fluent motion he slipped the wire over the guard's head and pulled tight. The guard made a few gruesome sounds before going limp and silent. 47 released the garrote and replaced it in his tuxedo.

He then moved on to the limp body and dressed himself in the man's armor. 47 hid the body and walked out of the bunker, back to the gate. He approached the confused guards.

"Where's the guy?"

"He was lying, I capped him. Now let me in, I need to tell the boss." The guards nodded and obeyed, afraid to disappoint the head, who was really 47. The gate rolled open and 47 waltzed in and headed for the office room to his left. In the window he could see his target and another man.

The door closed behind him and four eyes looked to his direction. "Captain. What do you need?"

47 looked at both of his targets before answering. "There is an intruder." Immediately after his response both men's faces went into a mode of stress.

"Well did you deal with him? Where is he?" 47 was thinking of how he could separate the two and take them out silently and without a mess when an alarm went off and a speaker crackled to life.

"There is an intruder on the premises. He is dressed as the guard captain from division 2.1. Find him at all costs!" The speaker shut off but the alarm kept going. 47 saw both men reach for their magnum revolvers. 47 reached to the holsters he had on and drew his silenced Silverballer pistols. He brought them up to each of the target's heads and fired. Blood sprayed the chairs and table behind them as one target wiped out on a chair, shattering the thin wood and the other collapsed on the table, bringing it down on top of him.

47 heard footsteps coming up to the door and he kicked one of the chairs against it and holstered his pistols. He then turned to the other door but it suddenly burst open and guards came sprinting in, machineguns aimed to kill. 47 heard the chair shatter and the door open as more guards filled up the office. There was a single click as a guard turned off safety.

Just as the men all fired at once, 47 made the jump to an open hatch on the top of the mobile-office. He looked down and saw the guards turning the room into a bloodbath of their own men.

47 dropped off of the office and stripped from the captain's armor and dusty desert body wrap. Doing so revealed his crisp suit, the only thing dirty were the shoes and his sleeve-cuffs, one with dirt and the other with blood.

The agent made his way to the rusty gate and slammed his fist on the button. The gate slowly rolled open, too slowly.

The guard force poured from all of the buildings and kept him trained in their sights. 47 was armed with two pistols, each one bullet emptier, and his garrote. Just as he was ready to make a dash through the half-opened gate, it began closing. He turned to his right to hit the button and saw a six-foot tall, black haired man holding a shotgun. The man was in all black.

The tall man drove his fist into 47's cheek and 47 fell flat on his back with a dislocated jaw. The tall man stood over him and a thin female holding a machinegun approached as well.

She eyed him for a second before turning to the tall man. "Silroy, keep him. I need a new pet." The tall man nodded and drew 47 up with one hand. He stared down the dazed agent for a second before punching him one final time, knocking the agent out.

"Sleep tight P.I." Said a gruff voice as everything faded to black around 47.

Kayla had her Parker Hale PDW strapped to her waist. It was no bigger than a machine pistol but it was reliable and persistent. It was her weapon of choice and she always wielded it when able. Her skin-tight flame-retardant suit made her look absolutely stunning. With it and her hips she was able to seduce any man, but she wasn't so sure about this one. His looks were solid and worn. He had high cheek bones, a pale face and a bald head and some odd barcode on the back of it. Not to mention he was dressed in a suit.

Just as Silroy finished tying him to the chair, his eyelashes fluttered and he looked up. He had blue eyes which were surprisingly handsome for such an ugly face. "Hello there." She said to the drowsy looking face.

The man suddenly jumped to life and tried to spring on her, tipping his chair. His bald head smacked the concrete hard and he was still for a moment.

"Silroy, you can leave. I prefer to interrogate… alone." The hefty Russian nodded and walked out of the room, closing the steel door behind him. Kayla began to unzip her suit…

47 awoke for good, finally. He remembers glimpses of when he was awake; all of the memories had the girl with the sub-machinegun in them. He realized that the setting was different from that in the memories. He was outside and dust was flying. His hands were bound to a pole that he was facing. Suddenly there was a loud crack and a sharp pain went through his back.

There was a soft female voice behind him. "Hold on Silroy, he's awake." There was a grunt from behind 47 and the female voice was now in his ear. He felt her warm breath on his cheek, her hands sliding across his chest.

"Who are you?" 47 asked in a formal tone. The hands slipped away from his chest and he noticed she had his Silverballers. 47 felt an urge to retrieve them violently, but the ropes were stopping him from acting out, so he ignored the urge.

"I am Kayla. You might not remember me, but after reading a file I remember you. Mr. Burkensom." Her voice emphasized the name. 47 knew what she was talking about though. Daniel Burkensom was the fake name he had used for over twelve years. Mr. Burkensom had been charged with many crimes, but always been pardoned. Diana, his handler in the Agency, always pulled the right strings to get him out of those situations, but this one may have a different outcome.

"How do you know me, Kayla?" 47 asked, as Kayla sighed.

"I was twelve. My father was in Rome and I was with him. It was at the Pantheon, my favorite place to visit with him. I went to the bathroom and when I came out, it was mass confusion. A quick flash through the crowd revealed this gun" She held up a Silverballer. "It discharged a bullet into my father's head." She threw the gun and it clanged into a barrel. Kayla began to size up the other one.

"It was a mission." 47 responded. Kayla nodded to the Russian behind him. Silroy, his name was. The tall man brought the whip up and lashed it down onto 47's back. 47 bit his lip to stop a scream.

"Well Daniel, I'm going to kill you. You refuse my body, you refuse pain… let's see if you can refuse a bullet between the eyes." She shot at 47's hands, breaking him off of the post. Silroy wrapped the whip around him to keep him from moving. Kayla put the gun right on 47's forehead and put her finger on the trigger. "Goodbye… 47." She gave a final grin of revelation before she squeezed.

47 was surprised but not out of focus. He gave a violent kick, hitting the gun out of Kayla's hand just as the trigger went off. It hit Silroy's heart, sailed straight through and hit a gunpowder barrel behind him. The barrel exploded, launching the three against a building. 47 dove from the area and into a mobile-office. The barrel set the building behind it up in flames, where the fire reacted with the gasoline in a helicopter's engine, sending it flying off of the building it was on and landing right on 47's mobile-office cover.

47 was sent flying out the glass of the mobile-office as it was crushed by the helicopter. For a second 47 lie on the ground, stunned, until he heard footsteps. He jumped up and noticed it was Kayla. He took off after her, scooping up the Silverballer in the overturned barrel on his way.

He came to a dead stop as Kayla mashed the button to the gate. He took a deep breath and fired, hitting her hand, forcing her to drop the Silverballer. He sprinted towards her as she slipped though the semi-opened gate. 47 picked up his Silverballer and fired on the two guards that just entered the compound.

Kayla was forced to stop, but instead she collapsed, her PDW sliding away from her, out of reach. 47 got to her before she could move to get the gun. He kicked it out the way and put his gun to Kayla's head. Her face had no grin, no overconfident look. There was true terror on her face and for once in his life, 47 felt sympathy.

He holstered both guns and began to carry her like a father would carry a sick son. She instantly passed out on his shoulder and he began to trot. He made it to his hidden Volvo and tied her hands and feet together and placed her in the trunk.

47 jumped into the driver's seat and made off down the road as the compound exploded one final time, making more of a crater than anything. The ancient road in front of 47 slowly disappeared and changed to sand and the only thing 47 went off of was his tracks from hours ago.

Around the back of Poncho's Women strip club was a sleek black Volvo. 47 closed the trunk and picked up Kayla, carrying her to the back entrance. He sat her down on the rocky ground of Las Vegas and pulled from his pocket an ID card.

He swiped it across a scanner twice and the door clicked open. 47 turned the knob and drew his Silverballer. With the other hand he dragged Kayla. 47 then stopped at the flight of stairs down the narrow hallway. The outside door latched closed behind them, closing out all unwanted guests.

47 left Kayla at the foot of the stairs as he slowly climbed the stairs, Silverballer drawn. Muffled music could be heard from the main room of the club.

The agent reached the door at the top of the stairs and opened it, carefully. His room was clear, exactly the way he left it. 47 holstered his Silverballer and went on to the chore of getting Kayla up the stairs.

Once she was in the room, he sat her on the bed and untied one of her hands and then retied it to the bedpost. Once Kayla was restrained, he took off his ripped and bloody suit, laying it in a crumpled mess on the couch. He then removed his tie and holster rig, where he stored his two Silverballers conveniently under his suit. He sat the tie and the rig on the table and then removed his shirt, covered in blood which he set on the couch. Then he removed his shoes, which were more dusty than ruined. Those he sat under the table and his socks went with the tie. Then went off his pants, dusty from the crawling and kneeling he did. He threw those with the tie. Those two could be saved. The shirt and suit could not be.

47 stepped into the bathroom and shut the door, locking it behind him. He removed his undergarment or "underwear" and threw it in the laundry hamper. He took both of the Silverballers and stepped into the shower. He sat the pistols down on a shelf near him, in case they were needed. He didn't worry about rust; the guns were made of stainless steel.

After cleaning himself of blood and going through the painful process of cleaning his wounds, he turned the water off and stepped out of the shower. He took a towel and washed his face and head quickly, so his eyes could once again be relied on. Then he dried the rest of his body. 47 tossed the towel in the hamper with his undergarment.

47 exited the bathroom, Silverballers in hand and saw Kayla was still passed out. 47 cracked a grin but quickly became aware of it and wiped it off his face.

The agent sat his pistols on the table and opened the dresser drawer behind him. He retrieved a pair of "underwear" and black socks. He put those on and then threw his pants into the wash.

47 sat down on the couch and began to polish his shoes. They were clean just before the pants were fully washed. He sat them on the ground and waited for his pants.

The washer beeped and 47 stood up to get the pants. He retrieved them, inspected them, deemed them clean and put them in to dry. Then he went to the closet, which was right next to the dresser. He swung the doors open and pulled out a suit and shirt, identical to the one he had taken off, except without the cuts and dust stains.

The dryer beeped and 47 retrieved his pants, then putting them on. His shoes went next and then his crisp white shirt, which he tucked in. His holster rig went over both of his shoulders and clipped in the back. He slid both Silverballers into them. He then tied his red tie around his neck and folded his collar over it. Finally, topping off the outfit was his plain black suit, which perfectly hid his Silverballers and the garrote he had just retrieved from his dirty suit.

After the uses of his dirty suit had been exploited, he tosses both it and his shirt into the trash. Once that was done he returned to Kayla and reinforced the knot. Once he was certain escape was not an option for her, he slipped out of the room, opposite the side he entered. He followed a flight of stairs down into darkness as music grew louder. There was a metal door that required his ID card. 47 slid it across and the door unlocked. He grabbed the handle and pushed it open, placing himself right into Poncho's Women strip club. The strippers were to his left, the bar to his right and Poncho's office straight ahead.

47 walked directly ahead, showing no interest for the unclothed women or the drunkards at the bar stools. He reached Poncho's office, slid his ID card across and entered the room. Poncho was at his desk, on the cell phone.

47 slipped into the room and glared at Poncho. 47 was sure he heard about the explosion of the facility. Instead of hanging up and dealing with the assassin, Poncho waved him off and spun in his swivel chair.

The agent slipped his Silverballer out from the inside of his tuxedo top and aimed it at Poncho. When the fat Mexican turned around he froze and slowly lowered the phone from his ear, eventually hanging up.

"Sorry, 47. I was dealing with a fat pig from Colorado." 47 lowered the gun but kept it drawn.

"So they were not much different from you." The insult was brushed off as Poncho let go of the phone and folded his hands across his lap.

"What do you need, 47? Payment?" 47 was upset that someone could know him so well, and thought he should deal with that. Poncho was a liability, but not one that needed to disappear. Not at least until he was ordered to do so.

47 solemnly nodded at the informant as he slid an envelope across the table. "As promised." Poncho then picked up his phone once again and began to dial a number. Poncho ignored 47 as he stood there, staring at him. What the Mexican did not know was that the order to exterminate Poncho had just come through.

Poncho spun around to the tip of a silencer, once again. This time before his mouth could open or his eyes could widen, the Silverballer recoiled with zero noise. A single slug sailed through two feet of air and cracked Poncho's skull, burrowing its way through his brain. It broke through the opposite side of his head and sailed into the wall, a spray of blood following.

47 slid his Silverballer away and stepped from the room. As the lock clicked 47 broke the I.D. scanner, blocking off all access to the room. From there the music of the club blasted, around eighty to two hundred men cheering on the stripping women.

47 was never seduced by women but he remembered Kayla. She was tied up in the suite on the floor above. Yet the agent could never be too sure and found no harm in scanning the crowd and the poles. Not to his surprise he caught Kayla, sliding on a pole. She was watching him, waiting for him to make a move. Once he caught her gaze she looked away.

Kayla knew her only cover had been blown. She jumped off stage, wearing only her bra and thong and slipped into the dressing room. Only a man who wanted to be arrested would follow her here. It seemed 47 was just that man.

47 knew Kayla wouldn't be far but she could be gone if he waited for a disguise. 47 had low hopes he'd catch her anywhere else but here, right now. The door swung with a great force and he pushed it open. He saw Kayla, zipping up her suit.

47 sped after her, drawing a Silverballer. The other showgirls fell to their knees in terror, but 47 ignored them. Kayla turned a corner and left 47's sight. The agent wasted no time rounding the same corner and pushing the double-doors wide open.

He saw her going after his Volvo, which would prove of no use to him or her for the keys were in the suite, unless she found them. That mental note put 47 in a state of absolute focus. He brought the gun up and shot at the handle of the car. Kayla pulled her hand back quickly.

"Kayla! Stop running. It's over now." Kayla backed up against the car. She felt naked without her PDW.

Suddenly a voice crackled to life in 47's ear, drowning out whatever Kayla just said. "47, it's Diana. Your fourth target to receive maximum payment is Kayla Olivarez. Exterminate on sight, 47."

47 was reluctant to follow the order but so was his life. He looked at Kayla's red face, eyes wet with tears. "Don't… please…" 47 put his finger on the trigger.

"It is my job Kayla, to kill people. Your father, your uncle, your brother, Poncho and you." 47 wrapped his thumb on the safety and clicked it off. "With your death my mission will be complete and the Agency's liabilities will be eliminated. I am not sorry it came to this." From there 47 pulled the trigger twice, two bullets exiting the silencer. One struck her shoulder and the other her ribcage. Kayla fell to the ground, eyes wide mouth open, just like Poncho.

47 slid the gun into his holster and searched Kayla. Sure enough, she had the keys. 47 slipped the key into the driver side door and it unlocked. He climbed into the seat and ignited the car's engine. He backed up from the club and began driving down the Strip of Las Vegas, heading for the airport. Once again as he looked into his rearview mirror, a building exploded. Then a voice crackled in his ear.

"Good job 47. The money has been transferred to your account. I'm setting you up a new contract now."


End file.
